All my life I’ve felt lonely. No one has wanted me. No one has cared. Another day gone, another day arriving; it is the same. Days are repetitive; days are bland. My days aren’t days. They’re nothing.
Nothing is the feeling which possessed my body all these years. A feeling of emptiness; a feeling unidentified.
When questioned,
“How do you feel?”
my reply is always the same;
“Alright.”
No one will ever understand. I don’t want anyone to understand. I never asked for anyone to get involved. Needless to say that doesn’t mean I’m not glad someone did. This someone sitting in front of me. Legs crossed; eyes open; hands contributing with daisy-chain making.
Chocolate hair; blueberry irises; cherry lips.
Oh, those lips. Sweetness and softness from a perfectly baked cookie. Rest and relaxation on a rainy Sunday afternoon. This is dim comparison. How can one compare to something so incomparable?
The first time I did it. My virgin lips touching such angel-like nerve endings. My cold, forgotten of hands touching the heaven I saw in front of me. Running my fingers through her hair like a failed olympic athlete and appreciating the cheeks I thought were impossible to possess by any creation. My good-for-nothing, meaningless life had a meaning. It had a reason. A purpose.
Thank you for kissing me. Thank you for making my life worth while.
